I take it out and set it on the desktop. It’s a bunch of letters from a life insurance company. The top letter is from August two years ago. It says that because of a judgment, they’re paying out the life insurance the Beaumonts had on Nate.
“Holy shit.”
It was a five-hundred-thousand-dollar policy. Besides the payout, there are invoices for the policy payment in full from fifteen years ago, when Nate was a year old. There’s another document that looks like a petition Marcus filed with the court six years after Nate’s disappearance to have him declared dead. And the approval from the judge.
Miles appears in the doorway, a small key in his hand. “This was in that tray of change on Marcus’s dresser. Think it fits the desk?”
“Maybe, but I found something more important.”
He walks around the desk and looks over the documents.
His eyes go wide when I point out how much the payout was. “Half a million! Shit.”
“This is something, right?” I ask.
“It’s definitely motive.” Miles keeps looking over the papers as he talks. “Life insurance is one of the biggest reasons family members murder each other.” He points to the court documents. “And they got paid out for it based on your disappearance. Look. Marcus even had to file an order with a judge to have you declared dead.” He pauses. “He probably knows a judge who helped him push it through.”
He sets down the papers and takes out his phone. I peer over his shoulder to see he’s searching how long a person needs to be missing before life insurance pays out.
“Life insurance companies have to wait seven years before they pay out a missing person’s life insurance. Unless a judge declares you legally dead beforehand, which, according to this, is hard to do.”
I go back to the drawer and look for the Beaumonts’ other policies. In the household folders I find more life insurance policies. Marcus’s is for five million dollars. Valencia’s is, too. Easton has one in his name for five hundred thousand dollars that dates to the same time as Nate’s. I turn Valencia’s around to show Miles. “Five million dollars. If Marcus killed Nate for the insurance money, why not kill her instead?”
Miles shrugs as he reads it over. “Maybe he didn’t like Nate. It’s entirely possible for a parent to choose their spouse over their kid.”
The idea fills me with rage. Will my own parents collect life insurance on me in seven years? If I’m still around then, I’m definitelygoing back to prove I’m still alive and fuck it up for them. Though I doubt my parents even bought a life insurance policy for me.
“Is that weird?” I ask. “For parents to have life insurance on their kids?”
Miles finally turns his attention back to me and he looks unsure. “I mean, maybe not? For funeral expenses—but five hundred K is a pretty swanky funeral, if you ask me.” He goes back to reading the insurance documents.
Five hundred thousand dollars really is a lot of money. Valencia and Marcus are both wealthy people with high-paying jobs, so would they really need half a million dollars so much that they’d kill their own son?
I pose the question to Miles.
“There’s always a reason. Maybe Marcus has gambling debts. Or maybe they’re leveraged out the ass and can’t keep up? These old houses are expensive to maintain.”
Valencia did say they had to have the roof redone. Maybe that and a few other big items hit and they couldn’t keep up, so—
My heart seizes and goose bumps burst across my arms. “Wait, what date was that court order declaring Nate dead?”
Miles hums as he flips through documents. “August twenty-seventh, two years ago.”
“Holy shit. Do you remember them building that boathouse?” I point out the window at it, then go back into the files for the boathouse invoices.
Miles catches on and his eyes go wide. “Yes. I think they finished it like a year ago?”
“After Nate was declared dead.” I put the final invoice on the desk. And yes, the total costs almost half of Nate’s five-hundred-grand policy.
Something changes on Miles’s face. Uncertainty. “I think a boathouse is an extreme reason to kill your own kid. And they had to wait eight years for the payout.”
“You said—”
“I was being flippant. Unless he’s an absolute psychopath, I don’t think that was the reason. Maybe it was the reason they filed the paperwork to have you officially declared dead, yes. But people don’t buytoyswith murder money, they pay off debts or mob bosses. Or politicians maybe. Plus, now that you’re not dead, he’s going to have to pay it all back.”
If I thought I had chills before, they get even more intense now. “What?”
“I mean, they don’t get to keep the money. You’re alive, so the insurance company is going to come knocking for it. And they definitely won’t accept it in installments.”
